


Black Mountain Side

by MissViolet



Series: Days of My Youth [2]
Category: Led Zeppelin, Rock Music RPF
Genre: Astronomy, Bars and Pubs, Blow Jobs, Cigarettes, Coffee, Curry, Islands, M/M, Marijuana, Napping, Porn with Feelings, Rivers, Rowing, Stargazing, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27406732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissViolet/pseuds/MissViolet
Summary: In the summer of 1969, Robert returns to Pangbourne after joining Jimmy’s new band.
Relationships: Jimmy Page/Robert Plant
Series: Days of My Youth [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873966
Comments: 9
Kudos: 18





	1. My One Desire

**Author's Note:**

> Filthy, shameless porn so don’t say you weren’t warned.

It was a week before Robert found himself at Pangbourne again. He had to pick up his paycheck and give notice, which barely registered with the road crew foreman. Young men joined and left the crew all the time; he merely grunted and handed over his check, but it was too late to deposit it as the bank was already closed. He went back to the pub, got some pints on tab only by actually showing his paycheck to the landlord, who carefully noted the amount on a pad behind the bar before serving Robert. Some of his mates came in, and they played darts while he bragged about his steady gig with the New Yardbirds. 

The next day, after cashing his check, he went to his girlfriend’s job at the pharmacy and paid her back the rent money she had floated him, explaining about the new band. Her eyes lit up with happiness for him. She was a sweet, pretty girl, with long dark hair and dusky skin. Sometimes he thought he loved her. But with Jimmy, he never thought; he just knew. It was a conundrum, but he cared deeply for her. When her shift was over, they went to the cinema, and he spent the night at her flat.

On Saturday night he had promised to jam with some friends who were putting together a band, a band he now had to tell them he could not join. Sunday was always dinner with his mum. His dad refused to see him until he cut his hair, and he had no intention of doing that, so he always met her at a pub. Over a nice Sunday roast he told her the good news, and she pursed her lips doubtfully, having heard him espouse various other bands with similar enthusiasm. Only when he got to the 25 pounds a week pay did she brighten up. 

“Be sure to tell Dad about the gig,” he said, kissing her cheek as she left. 

Though it was Sunday evening, he thought of leaving for Pangbourne that night. But no, perhaps Jimmy was with his own parents, having his own Sunday roast somewhere. Instead he went to bed early, his body thrumming with anticipation at seeing his love again. As he had so many previous nights, he sank into blissful fantasy about Jimmy as he lay in bed, remembering how he had ridden his hard pole until they both collapsed in ecstasy. This led to the predictable ache his groin, until he satisfied himself with his hand, at least enough to sleep, but his craving for Jimmy Page was unabated. 

At last it was Monday, and he had no loose ends. His rent was paid, his bar tab was paid, he even paid back all his mates who had stood him drinks. He had a satchel full of clean clothes, a couple of packs of cigarettes, and every harmonica he owned. Jimmy had sent him a telegram to be at the boathouse for Wednesday rehearsal. He was going to surprise him and arrive two days early. Impulsively, he bought of flowers at the train station, not red roses, that might be too forward, but a big bouquet of lush pink calla lilies.

His heart pounded with anticipation as he sat in the train car. He wished he could make the train go faster. At Pangbourne station, he ran down the steps to the street, walked quickly through the quiet, affluent neighborhood. Already the breeze from the river was lifting his spirits, making him feel that refreshing sense of tranquility he remembered from his first visit to Pangbourne. And there was Jimmy’s house, looking just like a fairy-tale cottage, with the peaked roof and the round-topped blue door. He rapped with the dragon’s head knocker. Nothing happened for a long time, and he was afraid that Jimmy wasn’t home. Of course, he should have called first, but in his eagerness to see his love again, he hadn’t even thought about that.

He was about to turn and walk away, when the door opened, and there stood Jimmy, looking a little disheveled, his black hair untidy, smoking jacket hastily thrown over his bare chest. He was wearing striped pyjama pants and those dainty little velvet slippers on his feet. “You came back to me!” he said, eyes bright with excitement. 

Robert couldn’t speak with the sudden thrill of seeing his darling again. Jimmy opened his arms and he stepped right into the tightest, fiercest hug he had ever felt. “I wasn’t sure you would come back,” he murmured.

“Are you mad?” Robert asked him, pressing his body close. “You’re all I’ve thought about. Why wouldn’t I come back?”

“I tried to leave messages for you, but the man who answered the pub phone hung up on me.” 

“Sorry about that. The landlord won’t take messages.” Robert was astonished that such Jimmy, so sophisticated and handsome and wealthy and almost-famous, was uncertain about him returning. How could he not see that he was dazzling, that Robert was mesmerized?

“Promise me you’ll get a phone installed with your first paycheck. I can’t stand not being able to reach you,” said Jimmy, pulling him inside.

Robert promised, and at last, he kissed those sweet rosy lips. Any lingering doubt Jimmy may have had was kissed away as their lips met passionately. Robert was still holding the flowers, and they got a bit crushed as Jimmy pushed him against the wall for sweet, hot, fiery kisses. He pressed their bodies together and opened his mouth with a little sigh as they kissed and kissed. Their tongues twined together, and it was so hot that Robert dropped the flowers and his overnight case on the floor as his arms came up to circle around Jimmy’s waist. 

“For me?” asked Jimmy, bending to pick up the flowers. His eyes were bright, his cheeks flushed. 

“Yes, I saw them, and thought of you,” said Robert. He picked up his case and followed Jimmy into the airy living room. It was exactly as marvelous he remembered; the river view, the walls lined with books and records, the big telescope, the curios in little niches. In front of the sofa was a low table with a tray containing a pot of tea and a half-eaten scone. 

“You’re sweet. Sit down and have some tea with me,” said Jimmy. He found a vase for the flowers and disappeared into the kitchen. Robert sat down on the sofa. The teapot was still warm. There was a book on prehistoric Britain lying half-open on the table. He could see how daintily the scone had been nibbled, and he picked it up and touched it to his lips. 

“You can eat that. I have more,” said Jimmy, reappearing in that silent surprising way he did. The man walked as quietly as a cat. He had the flowers in a vase filled with water, and a cup for Robert’s tea, and a plate of fresh scones with little glass bowls of butter and jam. He arranged the flowers in a place of pride on a long side table, and poured out tea for Robert, and they sat together, not even speaking, wordless with delight at being together again.

Robert had finished Jimmy’s half-eaten scone, so Jimmy buttered him another. “Do try some of this strawberry jam,” he said, putting a spoonful on the split scone and raised it to Robert’s lips. Robert took a bite. It was delicious. Bite by bite, Jimmy fed him the scone, and after he ate every crumb, he kissed his fingers, making him shiver. 

Jimmy sat back with a slight but definitely pleased smile. He had looked at him the same way when he first served him tea and cakes and biscuits. That was only a week ago, but oh, how his life had changed! He had another scone while Jimmy sipped his tea, looking at Robert over the edge of the teacup, his beautiful green eyes sparkling with the pleasure of his company. Jimmy’s leg slid closer to his own, his calf in the thin cotton pyjama pant rubbed against Robert’s leg, so suggestively that Robert’s teacup shook in his hand, rattled against his teeth. His heart was suddenly beating fast, too fast. Jimmy took the teacup out of his hand, set it on the table. He leaned in for a kiss, a slow, sultry kiss, full of meaning and promise. 

“I missed you, honey,” Jimmy sighed. “Did you think about me while you were gone?”

“All the time,” Robert admitted. “Especially at night.” 

“Yeah?” Jimmy said, smiling. “Did you touch yourself, thinking of me?” 

“Like mad,” Robert said, and despite all they had done together, he blushed, thinking of how he made himself come night after night, remembering Jimmy’s sweet lips wrapped around his dick. “I couldn’t help it. The things we did in your bed….” His voice trailed off. 

“The morning before you left, you climbed on top of me and rode me just like a cowboy. I’ve never come so hard in all my life. I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” Jimmy said. And then he kissed him again, and again, and Robert couldn’t take it anymore, he wanted him so badly. He pushed him down onto the sofa, and leaned over him, finally doing what he had been dying to do and pressing their bodies together head-to-toe. Jimmy made a soft little moan of anticipation as one of his velvet pumps slipped off his dainty foot and clattered to the floor. 

The beauty before Robert was breathtaking: his pale ivory skin, rosy mouth, dark hair falling in waves down his shoulders. He leaned low, looked deeply into those marvelous tawny eyes flecked with green and gold. He could get lost in those eyes. He took the lapels of Jimmy’s smoking jacket, smoothing it away from his shoulders, exposing his lean chest. Robert could feel, through his thin pyjama pants, his deliciously hard cock. He kissed him passionately, and Jimmy opened his mouth.

“It’s good to have you back, darling,” Jimmy sighed.

Robert felt a secret thrill that such a lovely and sophisticated creature as Jimmy had been pining for him. He could hardly believe his good fortune. He stroked his silky black hair away from his face, slipping his hand behind his neck to hold him close as they tongue-kissed with ardor. He could feel Jimmy’s fine cockstand, and that sent the blood rushing to his own groin, and his cock throbbed in his too-tight jeans. 

He kissed the corner of Jimmy’s mouth, his jaw, the hollow of his throat, he bit his shoulders playfully, kissed his biceps and the dark hair under his arms, reveling in the hot masculine smell of his sweat, the spicy, citrusy scent of his hair. He moved down to kiss his sweet brown nipples, to kiss and lick and nibble them until Jimmy quivered under his loving tongue. When he felt his body trembling under his touch, his returned to kissing his lips, kissing with open mouth and a lot of tongue. Jimmy’s arms twined around his back, grabbed his arse, squeezed it tight against them as their cocks ground together through the constriction of their clothing. Constriction that was suddenly, to Jimmy, unbearable, because he slid down his pyjama pants, unbuckled Robert’s belt and unzipped his jeans so his big cock sprang out, then grabbed him, pulled him close. Their bare cocks slid together exquisitely, chests and biceps pressed together, as they kissed open-mouthed and shuddering with delight. It was so dirty, sweet, and intimate, that Robert’s cock throbbed as he ground against Jimmy, who held him tight embrace as he plundered his sweet rosy lips until they were both gasping and breathless. 

Robert slipped a hand between their bodies, grasped both their cocks, and thrust his hips, fucking into his own fist, gliding against Jimmy’s prick, making him moan with bliss, making his slim hips thrust faster, his fingers threaded through Robert’s curls as he pulled him into a hard, dirty, gaping kiss. “Oh, darling, oh, Rob,” he moaned. “I’ll come. Oh, yes. Ohhh!” and he went off into a frenzy of lusty groans as his cock spurted out its juices, striping Robert’s hand, slickening his cock, and that was his limit, the very limit, watching his beautiful dark-haired lover come apart so quickly. Robert’s cock pulsed and he came with a sob. For several long seconds they spurted together, shuddering with bliss, until their bellies and cocks were wet with come and Robert’s hand was creamy with it, and finally he released their spent pricks.

For long moments they could only regain their breath, kissing softly, pounding hearts slowly returning to normal. “Now that was a proper hello,” said Jimmy, smiling up at him. They sat up, and Jimmy took a napkin from the tea tray, mopped them up as best he could, dabbing at the damp patch on his pyjamas, and the come splashed on the zipper of Robert’s jeans. 

The teapot was still warm, and Jimmy topped off their cups. “I meant to take you to bed,” he said, “but I couldn’t think of a way to get you there, then that kiss got peppery fast.”

“You couldn’t think of a way? I don’t think it would be too hard to get me in bed,” said Robert laughing. “Anyway, there’s always tonight,” he said, and he took Jimmy’s hand and caressed it meaningfully. He was going to enjoy the hell out of him in these next two days before their rehearsal. His intention was to hole up with him in this magical riverside house, and make love over and over again until he finally got his fill of Jimmy Page, if such a thing were possible. 

“Come out onto the deck,” said Jimmy, finding his other velvet pump and slipping his foot into it. Robert grinned, thinking of Jimmy coming so hard with only one shoe on. He picked up his teacup, and Jimmy offered him a fag, and they went out to sit on the striped porch swing and smoke and talk. 

“We could maybe run through a couple of songs while you’re here. If you want to, I mean,” said Jimmy.

“Are you kidding? I’m dying to sing with you again. I haven’t forgotten how it felt.” He did not have to explain further. While the four of them, the New Yardbirds, generated a kind of fifth element, there was some additional layer between Robert and Jimmy, some extra bit of chemical attraction, a kind of electricity that was almost tangible. He was eager to hear Jimmy play again, to sing with him, to experience once again their intense musical connection.

“Good, good,” said Jimmy, rubbing his hands together, pleased. “What say we do a couple of acoustic numbers?”

They went back into the house, and Jimmy handed him a sheaf of lyrics that he had carefully transcribed in his neat schoolboy’s hand. “Have a look at those,” he said, fetching a black-and-white large-bodied acoustic from its stand near the bookshelves. 

Robert looked at the lyrics. There was “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You,” which Jimmy had played for him last time, and two Willie Dixon songs, “I Can’t Quit You” and “You Shook Me,” both of which he knew a little, even if he didn’t have every lyric memorized. He read over “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You” twice, and then put the sheaf of papers down. He wasn’t going to sing clutching a sheaf of paper, even if he had to improvise the lyrics. 

Jimmy sat on a tall stool and began to fingerpick a lovely melody, wild and Celtic-sounding, soft and hard, slow and fast, picking up speed and sounding vaguely Indian. His eyes were closed, foot tapping the floor, his fingers moving so quickly and precisely that Robert knew he was in the presence of a master. No wonder he had already been on dozens of hits in his session work, and toured with a major band, and even cut a few albums with them. He started to feel unsure of himself in the presence of this older, seasoned musician. 

The last note died away, and Jimmy looked at Robert, and Robert grinned at him. “That was beautiful,” he told him.

“It’s based on an old Irish folk song. I’d like to get more into the folk music of all different countries. That’s what the Americans are doing, Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell and that lot. Want to try ‘Babe I’m Gonna Leave You’”? He began to strum the intro, and Robert wasn’t sure when to come in, but eventually he just jumped in baby, baby, baby, I’m gonna leave you.

After the first verse, Jimmy went wild, striking the chords violently, a crashing wave of music, then, just as suddenly, he played soft again, teasing the next verse. It was thrilling to listen to, exquisite, really, the contrast between soft and hard. Robert had forgotten some of the lyrics, so he improvised _oh, baby, you know, I’ve really got to leave you_. 

Jimmy had stood up, moved closer to him as he began the next hard riff, the crashing interlude. Their eyes met, and Robert felt again that exhilarating musical connection, and his heart pounded with the wild beauty of their song. _That’s when it’s calling me back home_ , he sang, and together they faded out hauntingly, first Robert’s voice, then Jimmy’s guitar. 

Robert looked at him, grinning. “Not bad,” he said. 

“Fucking fantastic!” said Jimmy. He leaned over to kiss him, awkwardly because the guitar was in the way. 

They went through the Willie Dixon numbers, which Robert knew fairly well, howling out the blues with such passion he realized he was overwhelming Jimmy’s acoustic. He even added a few harmonica solos, pleasing Jimmy, who hadn’t know that Robert could also play the harp when he hired him. Both agreed the Dixon numbers would be better with the electric guitar, which Jimmy avoided using upstairs because of his neighbors had complained a few times. “I have a soundproof studio in the basement, but it’s damp and cold down there,” he said. “We’ll have to use it when Jonesy and Bonzo come on Wednesday.” 

They did “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You” again, and it sounded even better the second time. Robert decided to stick with his improvised lyrics; he thought they were more suitable than the more staid version that Jimmy had copied out from the Baez album. 

“You’ve got a powerful voice. No wonder they call you the Wild Man. I can’t believe you’ve never had any formal training,” Jimmy told him. 

“What about you?” asked Robert. “You learned to play all on your own?”

“My parents gave me a lesson or two, but I was a poor student. Then I got this book _Play in a Day_ , and that was all I needed.”

“Bonzo never took a lesson in his life, and he’s the best drummer I know,” said Robert.

“That makes Jonesy the only one of us with formal training. His dad’s a professor of music. He can play anything, bass, mandolin, keyboards, plus he composes and arranges. I’m lucky that he got tired of session work, just like me. Last job I took, it turned out to be elevator music. I knew I was done with that scene.”

They did a few other numbers that Robert knew, “Train Kept A-Rollin’” and even “Somebody to Love,” the Jefferson Airplane song that Jimmy had first heard him singing when he was looking for his new front man. At last, Jimmy put the guitar down and lit a cigarette, offering Robert one from his pack, as he always did. They sat on the sofa smoking and talking about all the other songs they would play, the American blues and Celtic folk and the songs that Jimmy planned to write with Jonesy. 

“Are you hungry? I’m feeling rather peckish.” Jimmy asked him. “We can send out for takeaway curry.”

“I love curry.” He thought of his Indian girlfriend, but didn’t mention her. He still had no idea where she fit into all this, this secret treasure of his love affair with Jimmy. 

He showed Robert the menu, but Robert told him to order for the both of them. Jimmy went into the little alcove with the gold-and-white phone to place the order. He returned to the sofa with his stash, the green stone jar and matching tray, and began to roll a joint. “For later,” he said. “I always like to have one after dinner.” Robert watched his slim, graceful fingers breaking up the fragrant weed, removing the seeds, rolling it into a neat paper cylinder. He set it carefully on the coffee table. “We have a few minutes before dinner arrives. Maybe a half-hour. Whatever shall we do to fill the time?” he asked with a mischievous smile. 

Robert looked at his soft, pouty, cherry-red lips, just begging to be kissed, and there was nothing else for it. He kissed him, feeling that electric spark, the promise of bliss in the near future. It wasn’t quite as fierce as their kiss when he first walked in the door, when they had been missing each other so desperately, but there was plenty of tongue and open mouth and Jimmy with a little whimper held the back of his head, ran his fingers through his hair, and they kissed and kissed as if they would never tire of it. 

“I’d better set the table,” Jimmy murmured, after many long minutes, but did no such thing. Instead he pushed Robert down on the sofa, lay on top of him, trembling with the delight of their full-body contact. “Oh, honey,” he sighed. “I want you again.” His cock, half-hard, pressed against Robert’s jeans, eliciting a sympathetic response in his own groin as they ground together, exchanging open-mouthed kisses. 

Robert grabbed Jimmy’s arse, pressed it into his body, arched his hips to thrust against him. Long, passionate kisses followed, and just as things were getting especially hot, with a bit of tongue and teeth, the doorbell rang.

“Shit, the food!” said Jimmy, sitting up, face flushed, lips red from kissing. He tied his smoking jacket firmly around his chest to hide his erection and went to the answer the door. Robert sat up, curious. There was a pretty young lady at the door with long black hair, holding a motorcycle helmet and a steaming paper bag. “Hello, dear,” Jimmy said. “How much do I owe?”

The girl exchanged the food for Jimmy’s money. Robert noticed that he tipped her well. Then she went down the front walk and got back onto her scooter and rumbled away.

“Cute bird,” said Jimmy. “I’d ask her out, but if she said No it’d be the end of the curries, and they are the best in the neighborhood.”

Robert wasn’t sure if he was joking. It was the first time he had mentioned girls, and he felt a curious stab of pure jealousy, before he remembered his own girlfriend. Perhaps it was better that they both liked girls, too, but liking girls was a far cry from loving Jimmy with the kind of passion that he had never known before. 

Robert offered to pay for dinner, but Jimmy waved him aside and told him he could treat them after he got paid. They ate outside on the deck, on Jimmy’s blue-and-white china plates, washing down the spicy food with cold pilsners. There was curried chicken, and a dish of cauliflower, peas, and potatoes, which Jimmy told him was called Aloo Gobi, and another called Paneer Makhani composed of little bits of white cheese in a tomato cream sauce, and fried pastries with potato filling, and soft puffy bread.

“In India, they eat with their hands. No forks. They just scoop it up with a bit of rice or bread,” Jimmy told him, trying and failing to demonstrate. He spilled curry down his wrist, licked it off, and Robert watched him eating messily, feeling it go straight to his cock for some absurd reason. Was he really getting a hard-on from watching Jimmy eat? 

“Have you been there?” he asked him.

“Yes, I went to India a couple of years ago.”

“What’s it like?”

“Hot. And the cities are dirty. There are cows roaming everywhere. They don’t eat beef; the cows are sacred. But the people are lovely. I went up into the mountains and met a holy man. The musicians are wonderful. That’s why I went, for the music. I bought a sitar.” He started to tell Robert about his trip, and the temples he had visited, the people he had met, and the curious antiques he had brought home. 

Robert finished all the potato pastries and most of the curry while Jimmy was talking. He gestured to the last bit of cauliflower, Jimmy shook his head, and he polished that off, too. They sat in the fading sunlight, feeling full and content. Robert stacked the plates and brought them into the kitchen sink. He got two more beers from the fridge, and his cigarettes and lighter from his overnight case and brought them out to the deck. 

“Have one of mine, this time,” he said, offering Jimmy a cigarette. He took one and Robert lit it for him, and they sat smoking and watched the setting sun, full of good food and satisfied after their musical practice, but there was still that electricity, that unspoken connection that flowed between them. The sky grew dark, and Robert thought that four-poster bed, the snow-white sheets and scarlet coverlet. His unruly cock began to fill with blood again. 

“Do you want to look through my telescope?” Jimmy asked him. “I can show you the rings of Saturn.”

Robert thought that he had never met such an intelligent, fascinating, talented, clever, heart-stoppingly sexy man, an amateur astronomer on top of everything else. How lucky he was that this cultured, sophisticated man fancied him, little Robert Anthony from West Bromwich!

“If you’re not interested, it’s fine,” said Jimmy, and Robert suddenly realized he hadn’t answered, he had been lost in his thoughts, for who knows how long. 

“I want to,” said Robert, “I very much want to.”

“I’d best show you now before we toke up, otherwise, I won’t be able to find anything.” He went into the living room to fetch the telescope and set it up on the deck. He had a round cardboard disk illustrated with the night sky, with a cardboard wheel on top to align the date and time. He fiddled with it, and then said, “We should be able to see Saturn this time of year.” He looked through the eyepiece, adjusted the wheel to focus it, clearly this was something he had done many times before. “Ah,” he said, and called Robert over. “Put your strongest eye to it. Probably your right eye. It’s there in the center, between the constellations Capricorn and Venus.” 

Robert looked, and was surprised at the blanket of stars visible through the lens, and right in the center, a glowing ball, bigger than a star, ringed with haloes of light. “The rings of Saturn!” he exclaimed. 

“Yep. It’s the most beautiful thing in the sky right now. But there’s another thing I want to show you,” he said, and stepped back to the eye-piece, moved it, fiddled with the lenses, and then called Robert back over. “Look between Pegasus and Cassiopeia. Pegasus is that big square of stars in the upper right and Cassiopeia looks like the letter W. There is a smudge in between them. That’s Andromeda, another galaxy.”

Robert looked, found the constellations, saw the smudge. It wasn’t very impressive, honestly. 

Jimmy said, “Maybe it’s filled with people like us, stargazing and wondering who we are,” and that made him see it differently. Another galaxy, another Earth and sun, perhaps another Robert and Jimmy, looking up at their night sky.

Jimmy pointed out a few other constellations, and Mercury, Venus, Mars, and Jupiter, touching his arm or shoulder lightly as Robert looked through the telescope, occasionally consulting with his cardboard star chart. Robert was charmed by his knowledge of astronomy. He was so smart and sophisticated, so unlike anyone he had ever met. His intellectual curiosity and creative genius, not to mention sheer physical beauty, enchanted him. The lightest touch of Jimmy’s fingers on his arm set his heart to racing. 

“Enough stargazing. Let’s toke up. After that I won’t be much good at spotting,” said Jimmy, carrying the telescope and tripod through the French doors and into the living room. He returned with an ashtray and the joint he had rolled earlier, and they sat together on the striped porch swing, where they had first kissed. Because of that, or maybe just Jimmy’s nearness, Robert’s heart was fluttering, and when Jimmy held the joint to his lips, it positively raced. He drew on the joint, taking the opportunity to kiss the tips of his fingers.

“Ah, yes,” Jimmy said, taking a deep drag of the joint. “I am definitely taking you to bed tonight.” He rubbed Robert’s thigh, squeezed it, looked at him with sultry eyes as he passed the joint back to him. And just as last time, Jimmy pushed his velvet-clad toe against the deck to swing them ever-so-gently. 

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” said Robert, a little breathlessly. “I’m easy.”

After a few more tokes, Jimmy stubbed out the joint. They were both high, full of good food, starry-eyed, and only partly satisfied from their fast little frolic on the sofa when Robert had first arrived. Jimmy curled an arm around him, drew him close. Now they kissed slowly, with increasing passion. Jimmy moaned softly as his velvet tongue probed Robert’s mouth, as his hand wandered through Robert’s curls, settling on the back of his neck to draw him in tight. Slow, sultry kisses, until Robert’s heart thumped in his chest. Oh, how he wanted him! He was breathing hard, his pulse racing, and now he moaned, too, breathless with excitement, with anticipation. Jimmy’s hand was increasingly tight on his thigh. 

Jimmy drew back, and Robert saw how flushed his face was, how bright his eyes, and his pouty lips all red from kissing. Daringly, Robert pulled on the belt of his smoking jacket until it fell open. He slipped his hand inside, caressing his bare chest.

“Let’s go inside,” Jimmy said in a husky voice, “before I rip your clothing off right here.”

Robert, who wouldn’t at all mind being ravished by Jimmy on his porch swing, took him by the hand and stood up. They went together through the French doors and up the stairs to that luxurious, intimate sanctuary of Jimmy’s bedroom. 

It was neat as a pin, the scarlet coverlet pulled tight over the canopy bed. Jimmy whisked it down, exposing his sheets, which had been changed: pale mauve instead of snow-white. Robert slipped off his smoking jacket, flung it aside, pulled off his tee-shirt, and he would have kept going with undressing them both except Jimmy pushed him down on the bed and climbed on top of him, so that he could feel his hard cock through his pyjama pants. 

“You feel so good, baby,” whispered Jimmy, writhing against him, kissing him. His fingers were fumbling with his jeans, unzipping, pulling down his pyjama pants, and they pressed against each other, bare cocks grinding together deliciously. 

Jimmy tried to straddle him, getting tangled up in his own pants. For a moment they were stuck, until Jimmy flung off his velvet slippers and then lovingly removed Robert’s tennis shoes, pausing to caress each ankle. He flung the shoes aside, too, and then slid his jeans down, and tossed them, along with his own pyjama pants, overboard as well. 

“Finally,” he murmured, as their bare bodies slid together with a delicious frisson. “Oh, I’ve been thinking about this all week.” He gazed down at Robert, eyes blazing with love and passion. 

Robert, for his part, reveled in the sensation of being wanted, desired, lusted after. The look in Jimmy’s eyes as he pressed him to the bed was positively thrilling. Their cocks slid together, stiffening, and the electrical feeling ran through both of them, making them shudder. Robert leaned up to kiss him joyfully, tonguing his sweet rosy mouth, making him gasp and sigh his name: _Rob, oh, Rob, oh, honey_. 

He was dying to go down on Jimmy again, to feel his smooth white cock in his mouth, wringing those sweet moans from his pretty lips, He had thought about it a lot in the past week; now that the possibility was before him, his pulse leaped and skittered, his heart thumped in his chest. Their closeness was intoxicating; he smelled so good, citrusy and smoky and spicy all at once, and a little sweaty, hot and masculine. His lips were so sweet and soft, he couldn’t get enough of those fiery kisses. Oh, he wanted him so! 

Jimmy slipped his hand between their legs, felt Robert’s big cock with a murmur of pleasure. Robert knew he had a bigger-than-average one, and he also knew that Jimmy loved its size. He stroked his cock to a pleasing stiffness, while Robert sighed and bucked his hips and looked up at him imploringly. 

“Last week, when you were riding me, you had such a nice time,” Jimmy said, looking down at him while continuing to lovingly stroke his big throbbing tool. 

Only Jimmy would describe the way he had bounced on his dick to a blissful, come-soaked finish as _a nice time_. Robert would have laughed, only he couldn’t do more than moan and arch his back while Jimmy worked him over. 

“I want to try it, but honey, you’re simply enormous,” Jimmy continued, fingering his big swollen cock.

His meaning sank in, and Robert’s heart leaped. “We’ll go slow,” he told him. The thought of fucking his sweet darling’s virgin ass, of taking his cherry, put a sparkle in his eye, made his cock throb in anticipation. Jimmy had done the same to him last week, so he knew the unspeakable bliss that was in store for him. 

“I have this,” said Jimmy, releasing his cock and opening the drawer of the night-table. He handed him a bottle with a fancy label from a London apothecary. It was the sweet almond oil he rubbed into his hands after long days of session work. 

“This is good, it will ease the way,” said Robert, pouring some into his hands, slicking his hard cock, making it nice and slippery. Jimmy watched him stroking himself, eyes burning with intensity. _He likes to watch_ , Robert thought to himself, making a note of it for their next round of naughty bedroom games. 

Jimmy lay back, spread his legs, his mouth tight with tense anticipation. “Don’t worry, darling,” said Robert, kissing him. “I’m going to make you feel so good.” He nudged his hard, swollen cock into Jimmy’s tight little hole, pushing the head in. He was trembling with desire, holding himself back from what he really wanted to do: shove in and fuck him senseless until they both exploded in bliss. But he went slow, pushing himself inch by inch. 

Jimmy’s eyes were screwed tightly shot, his lovely mouth twisted with discomfort. It was too much, he was hurting him. He pulled out, leaned down for another tongue-kiss, working up his passion. Then he pushed one slick finger inside of him, carefully studying his face while his finger crooked and searched for that deep-down spot that would make him feel so good. 

He knew he found it when Jimmy’s eyes flew open in surprise, his arse twitched around his finger as he panted with lust. “Oh, yes, oh, yes,” he groaned, his cock throbbing against his belly. Robert teased his hole, curling his finger, stroking lightly across the tender spot deep inside him, until Jimmy’s legs quivered and he tossed his beautiful head from side to side. 

“That’s more like it, darling,” said Robert. He leaned down and placed a loving kiss on the sweet spot of Jimmy’s straining cock, just under the head, making him pant. “You’re ready for me now,” he told him, easing his finger out. He kneeled between his legs and again fitted his cock to his entrance, and this time, he slid in easily. 

“You feel so good, honey. So tight,” he whispered to him, leaning down for a passionate kiss. He wanted to thrust like mad, but he was still, letting Jimmy get used to the sensation of being filled. 

Jimmy wrapped his legs around him, kissed him eagerly. He thrust his hips, pushing Robert’s cock deeper inside himself. “Come on,” he said, his voice strained with lust. “Come on, now.”

He was taking it well; Robert gradually let himself fuck harder and faster, watching his face carefully for any sings of discomfort, but seeing only joy in his darling’s panting breath, his beautiful lips slack with pleasure. He really was a sight; cheeks flushed pink, lips like a blown rose, face framed by his untidy black ringlets fanned out on the pillow, a fallen angel succumbing to mortal sin. Robert kissed him rapturously, feeling a dizzying current connecting the two of them, the musical, creative, and sexual, bound together with love and passion. He plundered his sweet mouth as he thrust into him, relishing his sighs and moans and the soft and helpless cries as Jimmy experienced for the first time the heavenly delight of being fucked masterfully. 

“How is it, baby?” he whispered to him, rolling his hips, grinding himself into Jimmy’s body, kissing his hot and trembling lips. 

“Feels so good. Fuck, Rob,” Jimmy moaned wantonly. “Ah, do it to me!” 

Robert began to let himself go, to release the last bonds of restraint, fucking Jimmy so hard their bodies slapped together lewdly. “You hot little tart,” he moaned. “You want it so bad. So bad.” He was delirious with lust; he barely knew what he was saying. He seized Jimmy’s shoulders, pinned him to the bed as he fucked him and kissed him and moaned filthy endearments into his panting lips. 

Jimmy, with a soft sob, began to come, spurting milky jets, striping his belly, as Robert pumped into him mercilessly, dragging out his climax, so that he moaned and creamed all over himself a half a dozen times, over the course of a full minute. Robert marveled at his furious spend before he finally couldn’t hold back any more and with a hard groan his come shot out, filling Jimmy, running down their thighs, and squeezing out a few more jets of spunk from Jimmy’s pulsing cock. 

Time stood still; the world shrank to the two of them collapsed on the mauve sheets. Jimmy was absolutely devastated, his breath coming fast, damp hair sticking to his cheeks. Robert was still moaning softly with the sweetness of the moment: the taste of Jimmy’s sweat, his soft rosy lips, the feel of his come-smeared belly. He rested his forehead against Jimmy’s, holding him as they came down from their delicious spend. 

“Ohhh, darling,” Jimmy sighed. “That was divine, heavenly. Now I see why you went wild when you rode me last week.”

“It’s nice both ways, really. I feel so connected to you, like we’re one creature.” Robert’s cock was soft and spent, and he slipped out of Jimmy and lay next to him with his hand curled around his damp thigh possessively.

“Aristotle thought love was a single soul inhabiting two bodies,” Jimmy said in a soft, tired voice. 

Robert did not respond, but he heard the word _love_ , and his heart soared. He sank his head into Jimmy’s shoulder, inhaled the delicious fragrance of his hair, kissed his neck. 

“Oh, you are my darling boy,” Jimmy whispered as he turned to kiss his lips sweetly. “It’s like the most lovely dream. Will you still be in my arms when I wake up?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Robert said, as he snuggled down deeper into his arms, and they drifted off to sleep, sated and satisfied and deeply in love.


	2. On The Riverside

Robert woke first. He was not normally a late sleeper but between the strong Acapulco Gold and the vigorous love-making, he had slept a long time. It was after 10:00 a.m. according to the ormolu clock on the night-stand. He looked at his sleeping lover, tousled black hair fanned across the pillow, one lean arm shielding his face as he slept on his back. Quietly, he got out of bed and went into the hallway bathroom to wash up. Then he tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room, where he retrieved a pair of boxer shorts from his overnight case and put them on for modesty’s sake. 

He relished being alone in Jimmy’s house, making himself at home in the kitchen. He put the kettle on, found a box of PG Tips in the pantry, and fixed himself a cup of tea. He took it outside, through the French doors, and onto the deck, where the mist still hung low over the river. He sat at the carved wooden table, smoking a fag and sipping his tea, looking out at the river and hoping his darling would soon wake. 

He didn’t have long to wait. Jimmy came out on the deck, his hair all untidy, face creased by sleep. He was bare-chested, his pyjama pants were rather worse for wear from yesterday’s erotic frolics.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” said Robert.

“Hmm,” said Jimmy. Clearly he was not a morning person. He kissed the top of Robert’s head before he sat down, took one of the offered cigarettes, and smoked moodily and silently. 

“Shall I fix you some coffee?” Robert asked.

“That would be lovely, darling.” 

Robert went back into the kitchen, put the kettle on, scooped coffee grounds into the percolator. He topped off his tea before pouring the boiling water over the grounds. He knew just the way he liked his coffee, dark and sweet with two spoons of sugar.

“Here you go, babe,” he said, handing him the coffee. 

“Oh, yes,” said Jimmy gratefully. He took a long sip. “Ah, that’s better.” They sat quietly looking at the river, until Jimmy’s eyes finally brightened and he put down the empty cup. “Now I feel almost human,” he said. 

“There’s another cup in the pot, could I fetch it for you?” Robert felt a curious desire to wait on him, to bring him every possible thing he could need. 

“I’ll have it inside. I always play a bit in the mornings, when my mind is fresh. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Of course not, honey, play as long as you like.” 

They went into the living room, Robert fetched another cup of coffee and made himself comfortable on the sofa while Jimmy took the big black-and-white acoustic from its stand. He sat on a high stool, lit another cigarette, and began to play softly, tinkering around with various melodies. He played the lovely Irish folk song that Robert remembered from yesterday’s session, then he fooled around a bit with “Babe, I’m Gonna Leave You,” and ran through a few others that Robert recognized, snippets of Joni Mitchell and Odetta and John Lee Hooker. Sometimes he hummed along, and Robert liked that best, his sweet voice singing nonsense, accompanying his fine playing. Mostly he just noodled around, and Robert marveled at his nimble fingers, the skill and dexterity with which he played. 

Despite all they had done in bed together, Robert felt this was true intimacy, watching Jimmy play so freely, his mind dreaming up new riffs, improvising bits and snatches of existing songs in between sips of coffee and puffs on his fag. He lay back on the sofa, closed his eyes, listening without any thought whatsoever in his mind except how beautifully his lover played.

At last Jimmy put the guitar down, drained his coffee cup, and stood up and stretched. “I really need a shower,” he said. 

Robert stood up and came close to him, put his arms around him, drew him into a tight and delicious hug. “Let’s take one together,” he said. 

They went upstairs again, Robert carrying his overnight case, and shucked off their clothing in Jimmy’s bedroom, and together went into his big, luxurious bathroom. Jimmy turned on the faucets in the huge glass-walled shower, filling it with steam. Robert took the bar of soap and a big sea sponge and washed every inch of Jimmy’s body, delighting in feeling his lean, corded muscles, caressing him as much as he washed him. He shampooed his hair, kissing the back of his neck while he did so. Then Jimmy returned the favor, soaping every inch of Robert’s body with loving care, and he pressed him up against the wall of the shower for a sweet and watery kiss. 

Robert pulled him close, grabbing his arse, until their bodies, slippery with soap, slid together deliciously. He was always randy in the mornings, and that combined with the hot steam of the shower, the slickness of Jimmy’s lean body, his rippled abdomen, his pert little ass, the sweet pouty lips kissing him, oh, it was too much, his cock throbbed against the slim, bucking hips driving him into the wall as he teased open his mouth and thrust his hot little tongue inside. 

“Jimmy, oh, Jimmy,” he sighed. His soul was melting away, drowned in a watery grave of sweet fiery kisses. It was all happening so quickly, no sooner had Jimmy pressed him to the wall than his cock stiffened, and all the blood seemed to rush to his groin. 

Jimmy ground against him, his own cock stiff, straining, his mouth gaping as he kissed Robert, his slippery fingers tweaking his nipples, making him squirm with delight as he kissed and teased him. Then he rocked his hips, pinning him against the wall, holding his wrists, asserting himself in a way that Robert had not seen before. 

“I want you so bad, Rob, you drive me wild,” Jimmy told him. The shower was hitting his back, making the warm water cascade down his back and pool onto Robert’s hips and thighs. Jimmy’s lips were wet, his body was wet, his hair dripped onto Robert as they kissed. It was deliciously sensual, being kissed by Jimmy while thrust against the glass wall of the shower, trapped in their erotic embrace.

In between kisses, Jimmy reached over and got a bottle of shampoo and squirted a blob of it into his hand, and used it to stroke them both, and that was so good that Robert’s knees sagged. “Oh, yes, oh, honey, do it to me,” he sighed. He could not last, how could he last, with Jimmy’s strong hand all slick and slippery, stroking his big cock, stroking them both, nudging them towards unspeakable bliss. 

“Gonna make me come,” Robert panted out, which was clearly Jimmy’s intention, but he liked saying it. He was delirious with pleasure, his cock painfully, deliciously hard. “Oh, baby. Oh, yes. That’s right, that’s right,” he moaned, and went off into a paroxysm of moans and shudders as his come jetted out between them. Jimmy, in a frenzy of lust, slicked his hand with it and used it to stroke his own cock to a beautiful, creamy finish, as his legs trembled and he spurted out his juices, mingling with Roberts, until they both collapsed breathless against the wall, exchanging soapy, tender kisses as they came down from their heart-stopping climax. 

Afterwards, they washed each other again, so that it ended up being the longest shower Robert had ever taken, and the most delicious. Jimmy flopped on his bed, clad only in a towel. “My legs feel like rubber. Come here, love.”

Robert had been combing his hair at Jimmy’s mirrored dresser, but he put down the comb and lay on the bed next to Jimmy, turning his face so that their heads were pressed together. Jimmy kissed him softly, their lips touching gently, and Robert again felt his heart leap. Would he ever have his fill of this enchanting man? 

“I’m half tempted to just stay in bed all day with you,” Jimmy murmured between kisses. 

“That would be alright by me,” said Robert, and his heart beat a little faster, thinking of what they might do.

“The problem is that I’m famished. Have to keep my strength up for later,” Jimmy said, and Robert knew what he meant by later: another night of frenzied love-making in this beautiful canopy bed. 

“There’s a nice little pub down the river. We could take the canoe, have some lunch, then there’s a special place I want to show you,” Jimmy continued. 

“That sounds lovely,” said Robert, snuggling into Jimmy’s shoulder. Truthfully he wasn’t sure he wanted to leave the bedroom, especially with Jimmy wearing nothing more than a towel, but his stomach was growling with hunger. 

“Let’s dress, then,” said Jimmy, sitting up. He moved around the bedroom, pulling open drawers, putting on a pair of garishly-patterned drawers and then slim-fitting, stovepipe jeans and a maroon tee-shirt emblazoned with a Fender logo. Robert watched him dress, until Jimmy said _chop-chop darling_ and he got up and pulled some clothing out of his overnight case, a clean pair of jeans and fresh tee. He never wore any underwear; it seemed an unnecessary bother and just a way to create more laundry. 

Jimmy stood at the mirror, combing his black hair until it fell into soft waves. “Come here,” he told Robert, holding out the comb. Robert obediently came close and Jimmy stood behind him and pulled the comb through his tangled curls. 

“Ouch!” Robert said as the comb stuck in his thick, snarled hair. 

“What a mess,” Jimmy said, soothing him with a kiss to his neck. He held Robert’s hair close to the root and pulled the comb through the tangles so it didn’t hurt. Gently he managed to comb Robert’s hair until it was soft and free of knots. Robert felt his tenderness, felt the warmth of his love surrounding him. He turned for a hot kiss, but Jimmy pushed him away, laughing. “We have to eat, darling.” 

Reluctantly Robert released him, and they went down to the living room to collect their things. Robert stuffed his cigarettes and matches and money into his jean pockets. Jimmy rolled a joint, carefully stuck it in his cigarette pack, and tucked it into his pocket. They found their shoes – loafers for Jimmy, tennis shoes for Robert – and made their way down to the boat slip, the room in Jimmy’s house that was open to the river. Inside was the rowboat in which Jimmy had ferried him to the train station and next to it, a slim, graceful canoe of rich polished wood and green trim. 

“I thought we’d take the canoe,” he said, stepping in easily and steadying it for Robert. “It’s faster than the rowboat, and we have a little ways to go. Have you ever canoed?”

“I was in a canoe when I was a kid on summer vacay, but I was too little to do any rowing.”

“Sit in the front, it’s easier,” said Jimmy, untying the mooring and coiling the rope neatly in the center of the canoe. He sat in the back and used the oar to push the boat out of the slip and into the Thames, where they glided along quite easily in the fast-moving river.

“The back oarsman steers. All you do is propel us along, We’re going downstream, that’s why it’s so easy,” said Jimmy. 

Robert was sorry he could not see him, because he was complete charmed by his skill with watercraft. He really was like some kind of fairy tale prince who lived in a castle on the river. It was a beautiful day, the sky clear and blue, the sunshine warming the river, clearing away the morning mist, and there was a gentle breeze. The canoe moved much more quickly than the rowboat had, gliding past the elegant houses perched on the Thames

They couldn’t really talk while rowing, so they just floated along in silence, until Robert felt the canoe turning as Jimmy paddled on just one side. He was aiming towards a Tudor-style pub on the river bank. A hanging sign declared it The Swan. Jimmy pulled up to a dock and moored the canoe, tying the knots expertly. Robert was surprised to see several other boats there, a rowboat, a motor launch, and even a fancy yacht. It was a whole other world in Pangbourne, a world in which wealthy people travelled by boat to their pub lunches. 

They made their way up to the back steps and into the pub, where the proprietress greeted them. She was a pretty older red-haired lady, as old as Robert’s mum, with a trim figure and big grey eyes. “Bonjour, Jimmy,” she said in a charming French accent. 

“Bonjour, madame, je te présente mon ami Robert,” said Jimmy. Good Lord, he spoke French too?

“Enchanté,” said Robert, kissing her hand. It was the extent of his French, but it seemed to be appropriate, because her eyes twinkled appreciatively.

They were seated outside at a pleasant table on the patio, shaded by an umbrella, and handed menus, which were thankfully mostly in English. 

Robert looked around curiously. There was an older grey-haired gentleman seated on the other side of the patio, nibbling on a pastry. He was wearing a three-piece suit despite the warm weather. Robert wondered if he was the owner of the yacht. 

“It’s more of a café than an English pub,” Jimmy explained. “I usually have a croque madame.”

“What’s that?”

“Ham, egg, and cheese sandwich,” said Jimmy, and Robert burst out laughing. He was expecting it to be something fancy and French, but it was just a good old ham butty like any chip shop might serve. 

The waiter who approached them wasn’t French, but he was wearing a striped jersey and a red scarf knotted around his neck, which didn’t mesh with the strong Cockney accent as he asked “What’ll be?” Robert supposed the uniform was just for ambience, to make the place seem even more French despite being housed in a very English building on the most English of all rivers.

Jimmy ordered for both of them, the croque madames, a plate of frites, coffee for himself, tea for Robert. “They have the most fabulous desserts,” he said, eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Save some room.”

The waiter brought their pots of coffee and tea along with a carafe of water and two glasses. Robert felt himself relax even further as he sipped his milky tea. Jimmy was pensive, looking out at the river, saying very little, but under the table, his leg found Robert’s, pressed against his calf, maintained that connection, and as always, his touch sent a little spark of electricity through Robert’s body. Jimmy drank his coffee, looking at Robert over the edge of the cup, a slight smile on his face. _He knows what his touch does to me_ , Robert thought. Completely naughty thoughts flooded his mind, memories of all they had done, lust for all that might do. He started to blush and thankfully the food arrived and his mind returned to more mundane thoughts.

The sandwiches were on thick country bread, griddled to golden perfection, the cheese slightly oozing out the sides, and with them was a big plate of thin, crispy frites, which Robert realized were just chips after all. The waiter set down a bottle of ketchup and a wad of napkins, and asked them if they needed anything else before disappearing. 

Robert bit into the crisp sandwich, and butter and cheese oozed out. The ham was thick and salty, and there was a fried egg with soft custardy yolk. Robert only then realized how hungry he was, and he ate eagerly, polishing off the sandwich and a heap of the frites, washing it all down with cups of milky tea.

Jimmy was a more leisurely eater, and Robert eyed the remaining frites, trying not to be greedy, but Jimmy told him to go ahead and finish them, so he did, and by that time Jimmy had finished his croque madame and beckoned the waiter over. 

“Do you have the Napoleons today?” he asked.

“Yes, every Tuesday, we have the Napoleons,” said the waiter, somewhat surly, as if Jimmy should have known that. 

“Bring us two, and more coffee, please.”

Robert didn’t really want dessert, he was full of frites, but it was clearly a highlight for Jimmy. His eyes lit up when the water brought the cakes: layers of puff pastry sandwiched together with creamy filling and topped with chocolate and vanilla ganache swirled into a pattern. 

Jimmy pushed his fork into his pastry, so that the custard oozed out. He cut off a large piece, and ate it, closing his eyes sensuously, relishing the taste. “Mmm, so good,” he sighed with contentment.

Robert was entranced, watching him enjoy his treat, licking the cream from his pouty lips, scraping the plate with his fork to get every last bit of chocolate. There was something almost sexual about his enjoyment of the pastry. Robert felt a familiar tightening in his groin as he thought about that first time, when Jimmy had taken him in his mouth and sucked him until his spilled his own cream all over those pretty lips. 

“Don’t you want yours?” Jimmy asked, interrupting his fantasy. Robert picked up his fork and tried the Napoleon. It was very good, but he was too full, and only ate half of it before sliding it over to Jimmy to finish off. 

“I’ve such a sweet tooth,” Jimmy admitted to him, after their plates had been cleared away and they were lingering over cigarettes and the last of the coffee and tea. “Maybe that’s why I can’t get enough of you.” 

It was a corny thing to say, but Robert grinned at him anyway. So Jimmy liked his sweets. He filed that away for future reference. Next time, instead of flowers, he would bring him something from the bakery. 

The waiter brought the check, but Jimmy asked him to add a bottle of white wine, uncorked, and a peach galette to the bill. “They have the best pies,” he said.

The waiter brought a cold bottle of white wine and the galette in a white box tied with string. Robert tried to pay his share but Jimmy waved his money away. “You’ll get paid on Friday, then you can treat me. I’m not lacking for money, no worries.” Robert did not argue. By his standards Jimmy was positively loaded whereas he was, at least temporarily, down to his last paycheck. 

They made their way to the canoe, and Jimmy placed the box and the wine carefully in the center as he unmoored them. “We’re going upstream now, so it will be a bit harder,” he warned Robert. The current was moving against them, and Robert had to pay close attention to his rowing. Jimmy steered them, and they rowed in near silence for about twenty minutes, Jimmy occasionally pointing out some landmark on the shore, until they reached pair of islands in the middle of the river, densely covered with trees.

Jimmy paddled hard, turning the canoe towards the smaller of the islands. “It’s called Poplar Island. The other is Appletree Ate,” he said.

“Ate?” Robert asked.

“It’s spelled e-y-o-t. It means ‘island.’”

“Why is the one an eyot and the other an island?”

“I never thought about that,” Jimmy admitted. “I don’t know.” He was rowing them towards the one spot on the island that was cleared of trees, with a sandy beach so that he could push the canoe right up to it and step out without getting his feet wet. Together they dragged the canoe up the beach and placed it under the shade of a tree. “I know a lovely spot,” he told Robert, picking up the bottle of wine and leading him up the banks and into the woods. “I come here with the guitar to practice. Nature inspires.”

At first glance, it seemed the woods were too dense for walking, but there was a small path cleared away, and it led up a steep embankment and to a kind of crest that looked down over the sandy beach. There were soft banks of grass, carpeted with bluebells, big old trees, small shore birds picking their way through the grass, and a fine view of the river. 

“Let’s sit here,” said Jimmy, picking a nice spot under a wide-trunked tree. He sat down on the grass, leaning back against the tree. Robert sat next to him, but Jimmy said that was too far away and he pulled him in so that he was nestled between his legs, his back pressed to Jimmy’s front. 

“That’s more like it,” Jimmy said happily, embracing Robert, pulling him closer, so that their warm bodies were pressed together. He leaned down, put his lips to Robert’s ear, whispered, “No one comes here. We’re completely alone.” 

That made Robert’s mind whirl with possibilities. Jimmy kissed his neck, and then he took a long drink from the wine, and passed it to Robert. “I should have asked for paper cups,” he said.

Robert did not mind drinking from the bottle. The wine was cold and crisp and went down deliciously. When Jimmy lit the joint, he thought that things just couldn’t get any better. They passed the bottle and the joint back and forth, and sometimes Jimmy held the joint to Robert’s lips, so that he could kiss his fingers as he drew on it. 

Rather more quickly than they had expected, the wine was all gone, and so was the joint, and they were both high and a little drunk. Jimmy pressed his face to Robert’s hair. “You smell so good,” he sighed. 

Robert thought that he would turn and kiss him, if not for the laziness seeping into his bones. Instead he leaned back, pressed his face to Jimmy’s chest, and started to drift off.

“I could stay here forever, with you in my arms,” Jimmy told him. His legs snugged up against Robert’s, holding him close, and his breathing slowed down. Robert lazed in that curious half-awake, half-asleep state, but when he felt Jimmy’s chest rise and fall rhythmically, and saw that his eyes were closed, he thought a little nap would do him right, so he closed his eyes, too. 

They slept against the trunk of the old tree, dreaming of each other.

He was swimming in a turquoise blue pool scattered with broken marble statuary. In the distance, black mountains and shadowy canyons. He was trying to reach Jimmy, who stood waist deep on the other side, motionless, his beautiful profile like a Greek god. He was swimming and swimming towards him, but not moving at all. He cried out in frustration, then suddenly, he was right by his side. 

“The children of the sun begin to wake,” Jimmy told him, only his lips weren’t moving.

“What?”

“Wake!” In the distance, the mountains and canyons began to tremble. Then the pool began to shake, the statues tumbling. Robert looked at Jimmy in alarm. “Wake up, darling,” he told him, but why weren’t his lips moving?

“Wake up!” Jimmy was shaking him, and Robert opened his eyes, and the dream vanished. They were still on Poplar Island, still leaning against the tree, and the sky was dark and overcast. 

“Hmm?” Robert asked, muzzy-headed. “What?”

“Sorry I had to shake you, but you were out cold. We slept too long. It must have been the wine and the weed. We’d better go before it starts to rain.” Robert stood up, his limbs stiff, and Jimmy collected the empty wine bottle and they made their way back to the canoe. 

The sky was nearly dark as they shoved off, and Jimmy began to row quite vigorously, anxious to beat the storm. Robert offered to take a turn at the back but Jimmy waved him off, although once they reached the pub where they had lunched, it was all upstream and hard going. 

It was nearly dark by the time the approached the boathouse slip, and, as if on cue, a great crack of thunder boomed across the sky as Jimmy moored the canoe. He retrieved the white bakery box, now slightly dinged up, and together they walked through the damp corridor and into the living room just as big fat raindrops lashed against the French doors. 

“Just in time,” said Jimmy, slipping out of his shoes. Robert wondered if he was going to put on the velvet pumps and the smoking jacket, but no, he padded into the kitchen in his socks to put the kettle on. “Are you hungry?” he called out to him. 

Robert followed Jimmy into the kitchen. He wasn’t sure if he was hungry. His mouth felt dry and he was still woozy from the wine and weed. “I’m more thirsty than hungry.”

Jimmy was bending down, pulling oranges and one lemon from a bin in his refrigerator. He arranged them neatly on a cutting board, sliced each in half, and wrung each one against the glass knob of a green ceramic juicer. He carefully poured the juice into the pitcher, then repeated the process, finishing with the lemon.

“I always like a lemon in my orange juice. It makes it a little tart,” and he winked at Robert suggestively, as if making sure he understood the double meaning of _tart_. He poured them each a glass and Robert sat at his round dining table, sipping the fresh juice gratefully. 

“I might have some of this pie,” said Jimmy, sliding the striped string off the cardboard box and revealing the peach galette. He took a kitchen knife and cut a large slice, and ate it holding it over the box to catch any crumbs. It was messy and not at all elegant. Robert had assumed that Jimmy always ate with a knife and a fork and a linen napkin, but here he was, eating with his hands, messily dropping large peachy crumbs.

“Yum,” he said, cutting himself another piece. “Don’t you want some?” He held a slice to Robert’s mouth, and he opened it and tasted the sweet, crumbly pastry with bits of tender yellow peach. It was delicious. Jimmy cut him a piece, and they sat together, leaning over the bakery box, scattering crumbs and munching happily. 

The kettle was whistling, and Jimmy poured out the water into his blue-and-white teapot to steep. Loose grounds, of course; Jimmy thought teabags were an abomination. He brought out the tea tray, the milk jug and sugar bowl, and put some biscuits from a packet onto a small plate. This was the elegant, sophisticated Jimmy, not the messy eater who loved sweets. That was the most enchanting part of his personality. He was so refined, so cultured, his voice posh and proper, his house filled with valuable antiques, but Robert knew what lay under that calm and unruffled exterior. He had seen him play with high emotion, his lovely mouth curved into an erotic sneer, tearing those wild, loving, vicious notes from his guitar. He had seen him fall apart in bed, beg and moan and cry out for him, for Robert, to fuck him harder, the lovely trollop. 

They took their tea into the living room and sat on the sofa. Jimmy poured it out, passed him the biscuits, but he was too full of pie to eat them. He was content to sit curled up next to Jimmy, watching the rain streak the windows and splash into the river beyond. 

“This is nice,” Jimmy said, putting an arm around him. “Imagine if we slept another half-hour. We’d have been drenched.”

“That wouldn’t have been so bad,” said Robert. “If it meant another half-hour in your arms.” 

It was a corny and ridiculous thing to say, but Jimmy’s arm tightened around him affectionately, and he turned to kiss his hair. “We could go to bed now,” he suggested. 

“It’s only seven o’clock,” said Robert. 

“That gives us plenty of time, doesn’t it?” Jimmy moved his hair aside to kiss his neck, his ear. 

Robert felt his heart flutter, his pulse suddenly a hard throb in his veins. It wasn’t necessary to do much convincing. When Jimmy got up, Robert followed him, up the stairs and to his lush bedroom.

It still felt like a secret sanctuary, the antique canopy bed carved with fantastic wooden animals, the scarlet jacquard coverlet and hanging tapestries, the Indian prints on the walls, some of which, when Robert looked closer, were decidedly erotic in nature. Men and women dressed in flowing robes of shell pink and powder blue danced, cavorted, and copulated with each other. 

Jimmy turned to him for a kiss, the kiss he liked to give him while peeling off his tee-shirt, unbuckling his jeans. Robert, too, made fast work of Jimmy’s clothing, and soon they were naked and he had Jimmy pushed up against the dresser for hot, languorous kisses. He thrust his hips, trapping Jimmy, and the dresser rocked slightly as he kissed him.

“My drawers,” Jimmy moaned, pushing him away. 

“I already took them off, darling.”

“My 18th century drawers. I don’t want us to break them.” He took Robert’s hand and led him to the bed, tearing down the coverlet, pushing him onto the sheets. They fell into a deep, passionate kiss, Jimmy on top, grinding into him, feeling the delicious head-to-toe thrill of their bodies pressed together, the intoxicating sweetness of Jimmy’s soft, pouting lips, his hot little tongue twining into Robert’s. He slipped his hands down Jimmy’s back, down to his arse, grabbed and hugged him close, their stiffening cocks sliding together, making them shudder with bliss. 

Jimmy sat up and he looked a sight, his mouth red from kissing, his dark hair mussed, curls sticking to his flushed cheeks. Robert felt his heart skip a beat, he was so consumed with love and desire. With a tiny whimper he gripped Jimmy’s hips, trying to pull him back down for a kiss. Jimmy smiled at him, then stroked his nipples lightly, tweaking and then pinching, making him gasp, and then he leaned down and tongued each one, licking and gently nibbling them into little points of fire while Robert writhed and moaned. Until he met Jimmy, he’d never given much notice to his nipples, useless things on the front of his chest. Now they were so sensitive, each lick and bite sent an answering throb to his groin. He ran his fingers through Jimmy’s silky hair, whispered _yes, oh, yes_ as his cock stiffened to iron.

Jimmy snuggled up behind him, lifting his hair aside to kiss his neck, pushing his hard cock into the cleft of his arse, grinding, grinding. “Should I take you from behind, darling, on our hands and knees, like animals?” Jimmy whispered into his ear.

“Yes, do it,” Robert moaned. Why not? He’d tried it every other way. Jimmy’s hands were rough on his waist, pulling him up onto all fours, curving himself over him, lips on his neck, cock nestled in the cleft of his arse, rubbing and teasing in a promise of things to come. 

They had learned a thing or two in their last few romps, during which each had experienced the breathtaking erotic bliss of being the giver and the receiver. Jimmy made his hands slick, then his own cock, and Robert’s cock, stroking him until he was arching into his hand, pushing his hips back and forth, uttering soft little moans as his cock hardened in Jimmy’s grasp. He would have liked to come right then and there, but Jimmy had other ideas. He slipped an oiled finger inside of him, prodding him, taking his breath away momentarily when he found the sweet spot.

“Right here, baby?” Jimmy crooned, gliding his finger over the place deep inside that made him twitch and shudder. His cock throbbed, dripped clear fluid onto Jimmy’s sheets. Then Jimmy withdrew his finger. Robert’s heart thumped madly with anticipation. Before he knew what was happening, Jimmy had slid his slickened cock right up his bum, skewering him, piercing him to the core. 

He gasped with surprise. It was a raw act of possession, and he reveled in it, loving the feeling of being claimed, of submitting to his dark prince. Jimmy was still, letting him get used to the sensation. Something about the angle of getting it from behind was particularly delicious. He was stuffed, full of Jimmy’s big hard dick throbbing against his very core, that deep-down spot that turned him into a trembling, boneless mess. 

Slowly, Jimmy began to move, and Robert’s hips met him eagerly, thrusting back and forth, forcing his cock a little deeper, faster. Jimmy covered him, arms wrapped around him, braced on the mattress, belly and chest pressed to Robert’s back. He stroked the hair from his ear, whispered to him, “How do you like it, babe? Does my cock feel good?” He gave his bottom an affectionate slap.

Slutty, helpless moans broke from Robert’s lips. It was blissful, delicious, he felt as if his soul were being carried away with each heave and thrust into his quivering arse. He moaned, hung his head, his hair shielding his face.

Jimmy leaned low, grabbed his chin, turned his head for a deep, wet, thrilling kiss as he drilled him relentlessly. His slippery hands stroked Robert’s chest, pinched his nipples, sending waves of lust throbbing and pulsing down to his groin. He was dying, his soul carried away to the very heights of bliss as his lover ravished him.

“Oh, harder, fuck me, ah, yes,” he moaned. With a grunt he lifted himself up onto his knees, pushing them both almost upright. He grabbed the wooden headboard, giving him more flexibility, more room to buck his hips, thrusting back into Jimmy, driving his rock-hard prick deeper and deeper. He could feel Jimmy’s heart beating fast against his back, the tense, trembling muscles of his legs, his hot breath close to his ear.

“You do like getting fucked, don’t you, baby?” Jimmy purred in his ear. It wasn’t really a question, and Robert’s response was a wordless moan. It was sheer heaven, a riot of pleasure emanating from deep down inside him, as Jimmy’s cock skewered him, stroking and nudging him closer to unspeakable bliss. Jimmy, panting with lust, bit the crook of his neck, the delicate spot where neck meets shoulder, and he wasn’t gentle. Robert groaned in pain tinged with pleasure as a hot flush spread throughout his body. 

They were fucking so hard the bedsprings squeaked, and the wooden bedframe, as solid as it was, wobbled as Jimmy drilled him. When he reached around to hold Robert’s cock in his slippery hand, making him fuck himself into his tight grasp, Robert completely lost it. “Ohhh, honey,” he moaned out, as waves of pleasure built up from deep within, rising and crashing down with blinding, dizzying intensity. With a hard sob he began to spurt, flooding Jimmy’s hand, and Jimmy milked him as he ground into him, panting, rubbing the head of his cock with his creamy hand until it was slick. 

Jimmy’s arse quivered and then froze, as with a luscious moan he spent himself deep inside Robert, stabbing him, grinding out the last drops as Robert hung his head, moaning and shuddering and dripping come into Jimmy’s tight grasp. 

Finally the stars cleared from his eyes and he collapsed onto the bed, exhausted as if he had just run a marathon. Jimmy was a heavy, dead weight on him, panting in his ear, until he had to shove him off and roll over. They lay side by side, staring into each other’s eyes, breathing hard and not saying a word. Robert had never felt anything quite like it. But then, he thought the same thing each time he lay with Jimmy. Every occasion was more intimate, more heated, than the last. The wall of privacy between them was slowly evaporating. They had seen each other at their most vulnerable, crying out in ecstasy, begging to be fucked. But it was the feeling of tenderness afterward that really made him feel close to Jimmy. He sank his head into Jimmy’s shoulder, nestling into his dark hair. Jimmy turned to him for a tired kiss. 

“It’s not even eight o’clock. Plenty of time for another round before the night is through,” said Robert, although he could not imagine such a thing after the solid rogering Jimmy had just given him. 

“Oh, we will,” Jimmy assured him with a kiss. But he was wrong. Thoroughly fucked-out, tired from rowing and drinking and smoking and overeating, they both fell into a sound and dreamless sleep.


	3. The Beat Within My Heart

Robert awoke first and took the opportunity to stare at his lover. Sleeping, he looked angelic, his sweet lips curved, his untidy hair a halo around his head. The sheets covered his legs, leaving his lean torso bare. Robert was reminded of medieval paintings of angels ascending the heavens, their manly parts artfully concealed with swirling banners and strategically-placed clouds. 

He was dying to pull the sheet down and see if Jimmy, like himself, had a morning stiffy, but before he could do so, Jimmy himself kicked the sheets off with a muffled sigh. He was starting to awaken, slowly, as he always did, and Robert sat back and waited, enjoying the sight of his glorious naked form coming to life from his slumber, pleased to note that he did have a fine morning cockstand. 

“Hello, babe,” Jimmy said when he at last opened his eyes. “We slept a long time. Yesterday really wore us out.” 

“I think it was the wine that did it. I could have handled the rest.” He leaned forward for a kiss, but Jimmy drew back. 

“Let’s hold off. We only have a few hours till rehearsal. I don’t want to sap my mojo,” he said.

“What the hell does that mean?” Robert said, feeling an unexpected flush of ire. He wanted Jimmy badly, was getting spoiled with his daily morning orgasm while staying in Pangbourne. 

“My anima. Spirit, I guess you could call it. Sex drain its. And the music comes from the same place, you know.” He reached over and slid his warm palm down Robert’s chest, to his sternum. “The fourth chakra.”

“That’s the barmiest thing I’ve ever heard. You don’t think Robert Johnson lay with any women before he recorded _King of the Delta Blues_? He was swiving other men’s wives left and right!”

“The music comes from the same place as sexual passion. It uses the same energy. Sonny Boy Williamson told me, and he really ought to know.”

“So what are you going to do with that big stiff-stander you’re sporting?” asked Robert. He leaned over, curved his arm around, wanting to touch it, but Jimmy slid off the bed. 

“Take a cold shower and think of England,” Jimmy called from the bathroom. “I suggest you do the same. Separately!” he clarified. “Or have a wank but do it fast before I get out because it’s too exciting to watch.” 

Robert lay back on the bed, groaning in frustration. He heard the shower running. Jimmy was serious about this abstinence. He went to the bathroom in the hall, ran the water lukewarm for his shower and the, following Jimmy’s advice, turned on the cold tap and directed the spray to his unruly cock, still-half erect. He yelped as the cold water hit his tender parts, but it did the trick, and his cock sagged and wilted in objection. 

Toweling himself off, he directed his mind to other thoughts, anything other than Jimmy, his bare body, his gloriously stiff cock thrusting up between his legs. He put those thoughts out of his mind, returned to the bedroom to put on jeans and a clean tee shirt. The shower was still going. 

“You’d better not be having a frig in there!” he called out. “No fair cheating!”

He heard the water stop and Jimmy step out of the shower. “We can go six hours without sex. As soon as the other blokes leave, we’ll have at it.” He came into the bedroom, towel wrapped around his waist, dark curls dripping onto his shoulders.

Robert turned away, biting his lip. It was too much, half-naked Jimmy, hair wet, just one little slip of the towel away from being completely nude. “I’m going downstairs, I can’t take this,” he whined. He made his way down to the kitchen, got the kettle going, and looked in the refrigerator for breakfast. There were rashers and eggs and a bag of rolls from the bakery. By now he had found his way around Jimmy’s kitchen, so he got out a big cast-iron pan and started the rashers frying, split the rolls to toast them for ham-and-egg sandwiches. 

By the time he finished his first cup of tea, he felt a lot better about the situation. He didn’t want to admit that Jimmy had a point. He knew that sex had something to do with his singing. Not everything, but something. It did come from the same general vicinity as creativity and passion, although Robert didn’t put too much stock in the chakras, but he respected the opinion of Sonny Boy Williamson. 

When Jimmy came downstairs (fully dressed, thankfully, in a soft green shirt and black velvet stovepipes), he said to him, “Maybe there’s something to this saving your mojo. We’ll see how it goes.” He handed him a cup of sweet black coffee.

“That’s my boy. Keep an open mind,” said Jimmy. “Try new things.” 

Robert cracked eggs into a pan, and while they cooked he slathered the rolls with butter and piled them with bacon. When the eggs were done, he slid one onto each roll and brought the plates to the table. 

“Thank you, darling.” Jimmy bit into his ham roll, runny yolk squeezing out the edges. For several moments they ate in silence, the rolls being too messy for conversation. 

“That should fix us till after practice, when we can all have supper,” said Jimmy, as they were washing the yolk off their hands at the kitchen sink. 

They topped off their mugs and took their tea and coffee out to the deck. Jimmy stopped to retrieve a wad of paper tucked into the strings of his black-and-white acoustic. They sat at the carved wooden table and he smoothed it out to show to Robert:

Train Kept A Rollin  
I Can’t Quit You  
You Shook Me  
How Many More Years  
I’m Confused/Dazed and Confused

“Do you know them?” he asked.

“The Willie Dixons, yeah, and ‘How Many More Years.’ We did ‘Train’ last week. What’s ‘Dazed and Confused’?

“It’s something the Yardbirds used to play. The lyrics are daft; maybe you could help rewrite them.” He handed Robert the second sheet. It was covered with lyrics in Jimmy’s neat handwriting.

“’ Feel like a mouse, and you act like a cat’?” Robert said, laughing.

“Yeah, it needs a rewrite. I’ll play it for you. Maybe you could take a shot at it.”

“Me?” Robert asked stupidly as if there were anyone else there.

“I know you can do it,” said Jimmy. “There’s something lyrical about you, poetic, even.”

Robert flushed with pleasure. He was thrilled, even though he wasn’t quite sure what it meant to be lyrical but it sounded nice. 

It was almost one, and the others would arrive soon. Jimmy was excited; there was a subtle undercurrent of anticipation. They went back into the living room, so as not to miss the doorbell, and Jimmy played “Dazed and Confused” for him on the acoustic. “It’s more suited to electric,” he said, “but you get the gist.” He sang it for him in a soft, sweet voice, though he didn’t sing well, there was something endearing about the way he sounded.

_I'm dazed and confused,  
Is it stay, is it go?  
Give me a clue,  
'Cos I just want to know.  
Give me a clue as to where I am at,  
Feel like a mouse, and you act like a cat._

Robert took a pencil and sketched out some lyrics to replace the rather silly ones on the paper Jimmy had given him. His words were dark, but the blues are about unhappiness. He felt his creativity flowing, and wrote out another verse, and then another, before he realized that Jimmy had stopped playing and was looking at him.

“See, I knew you could do it, babe,” he said. 

“Do you want to see?”

“Later, later,” Jimmy waved away the paper. “The others will be here any minute.”

Robert didn’t take the opportunity to point out that Bonzo wasn’t known for his punctuality, but to his surprise, he arrived with Jonesy, both of them emerging from a tiny mini coupe parked at the curb. Jonesy must have given him a ride from the station.

He was glad to see his old friend, and they grinned at each other as they did a half-hug, half handshake greeting. This had been their dream since they were 16, to be professional musicians, and now it seemed they were well on their way. 

Jimmy seated them all in the living room, brought cold pilsners and ashtrays and a bowl of salted nuts. They clinked bottles, toasting the success of their new venture, and then Jimmy gave them the rundown.

“In three weeks, we have a series of gigs in Scandinavia. We’ll be on tour for two weeks. These are dates left over from the Yardbirds, previous commitments before we broke up. Has everyone got a passport?”

Robert had been on his parents’ passport when they took him to France as a child; Bonzo had never left Britain. Jimmy told him to get right on the passports, paying rush fees if necessary to get them in time. 

“These will be one-hour shows, in small clubs, so we only need about ten songs. But we only have three weeks, so until then, we’ll practice at least three times a week, More if we can swing it. You can stay here, I have lots of bedrooms.”

Robert wasn’t thrilled with that last offer, given that it might put a crimp in their romantic life, but fortunately neither were Jonesy, who said he lived in London not too far off so he’d just a soon sleep at home, or Bonzo, who was a devoted family man and hated sleeping away from his wife and child. 

“You’ll be getting your first paycheck Friday, G will mail it.” That was Peter Grant, their manager. “In Scandinavia you’ll get the Europe pay. If we make it to America then everyone’s pay triples.”

Robert tried to play it cool, but 100 pounds for a two-week tour! He was the only one who hadn’t been making good bread with his music, so he tried to keep the crazy grin off his face but Bonzo saw it and said with a smile, “Better than laying tarmac, eh, Planty?”

Jimmy passed around the setlist, and there were a few songs unfamiliar to each of them, except Jonesy, the seasoned session man. Jimmy picked out a stack of LPs and placed them in order on the automatic record player. They were the setlist songs, the Yardbirds’ “Train Kept A Rollin’” and then the Willie Dixons, Howlin’ Wolf, and the Yardbirds again with “I’m Confused.”

They sat in silence, listening carefully. No one drank their beer or smoked; they just listened. Robert didn’t know the last song, the one for which Jimmy had asked him to rewrite the lyrics. He was less familiar with “Train Kept A Rollin’” than the Willie Dixons, which he had performed many times. But he had every confidence in Jimmy and Jonesy, and for that matter, he had never known Bonzo to falter. No, it was his own self he felt uncertain about, but he pushed the doubt aside as Jimmy described their rehearsal space.

“It’s damp. And cold. No central heating down there, and it’s right on the river. But the neighbors complained when I plugged in up here in the living room. The acoustics are not bad, actually.” He slung the black-and-white acoustic over his shoulder, picked up a Fender case, stuffed his cigarettes in his pocket. “If you get cold you can nip up here and borrow a jacket. I expect you’ll break a sweat though.” Jimmy said it casually, but Robert felt a thrill race through him. The doubts fell away and he felt only a sharp eagerness to play with them again, to feel what Jimmy called the fifth element. 

They followed him down a dark and twisty corridor, Robert carrying a bottle of water and all his harmonicas, Jonesy his bass in its black case. The air grew fresh and damp; they were on the river level now. Across from the boat slip, a rickety wooden door led to a cavernous stone room with walls damp and seeping in spots. A strong smell of wet mud pervaded the room.

“Watch where you put stuff. There are leaks,” said Jimmy, and Robert thought that was a tactful way to describe the dripping walls. 

There were stools, music stands, a drum kit, a battered-looking standing piano, and amplifiers lining the walls. Bonzo went to inspect the drum kit, making vague noises of dissatisfaction at the single bass drum. 

“Sorry, Bonzo, it’s too damp to put a decent kit down here,” said Jimmy. “I’m asking for trouble with all this electronics and water. We’ll have to find a better practice setup, rent a space in London where you can put your drums, but we can’t wait. Three weeks is all we have.”

Jonesy and Jimmy were plugging in, setting up, Bonzo testing the drums, and Robert, as usual, stood around without any particular warmup routine. Previously he might have had a shot or two of whiskey, or a couple of tokes, but that seemed overkill at one in the afternoon. 

“Let’s stick to the set list I wrote up. “Train” first,” said Jimmy, twanging out the opening notes on a Telecaster embellished with psychedelic swirling gold and green patterns. Jonesy and Bonzo teased the beat, the Jimmy crashed in, and Robert ad-libbed in sync with him, oh yeah, need somebody to love, then it was his cue. He sang

_Aboard a train  
I met a dame  
She was a hipster  
Man a real gone dame_

They had played this song at the first rehearsal, so they were comfortable with it. It was a nice showcase for Jimmy and Bonzo, they were the real leads on this song, and Robert marveled at Bonzo’s ability to play along with the unpredictable Jimmy. But then that was exactly what he was doing, studying his hands, his face, as he played, watching his body language so he could improvise at odd moments 

_Sweet baby  
My sweet baby  
I need you so bad_

He couldn’t help it; he looked at Jimmy as he sang, his meaning plainly etched on his face. Jimmy had that slight half-smile, lips occasionally pursing as he concentrated, tearing out the notes. He played his guitar as if making love to it, savagely, or else his head was thrown back in ecstasy, as if the guitar were playing him. It was unbearably sexy. 

Robert tore his gaze away, pulled his harp from his pocket and played a scorching little solo to accompany Jimmy. Bonzo dragged out the measure to give them room to improvise. The electrical feeling between them intensified. It was that fifth element that bound them together, but something extra crackled between Robert and Jimmy. The fierce notes of the guitar resonated in Robert’s spine. He felt it humming inside him, the power of Jimmy’s guitar. 

“I Can’t Quit You” and “You Shook Me” were even more solid; they all knew the Willie Dixon songs quite well. The former was a real showcase for Robert’s voice, and he sang it better than he ever did, Jimmy’s howling guitar urging him on. The latter allowed Jonesy to show off a bit, his driving bass line the backbone of the song. 

_I have a bird that won’t do nothing,  
Ohh, oh, oh_

Jimmy’s wild guitar matched the pitch of his voice perfectly, and he mouthed the words at Robert when he sang: _You shook me baby_. He felt his cheeks flush and reminded himself to keep it together. 

To his surprise, Jonesy swung his bass around and went to the beat-up old piano and pounded out a perfect solo. That inspired him to add a few measures of harmonica, and then he closed the song with a wild, elongated erotic yodeling “You shook me oh oh oh…” and to his surprise, when his last note died away, Jimmy mimicked it perfectly, making his guitar shriek like a woman. 

They all grinned at each other. It was obvious there was something otherworldly about their musical connection. They took a water break, and Jonesy explained that the piano solo should really be an organ. Jimmy promised to get them all into a real studio early next week. 

“How Many More Years” was a little rockier; Jonesy had the bass line down pat, which by now didn’t surprise Robert, and Jimmy, the consummate professional, was on point as usual, but Robert and Bonzo struggled. His voice did not sound right for the song. Jimmy scrapped it halfway through and told everyone to go home and listen to Howlin’ Wolf do it until they got it pat. They went back to “Train Kept A Rollin’” which by now was flowing nicely. Robert realized that Jimmy was getting their confidence back on train, after the slight deflation of stumbling over the Howlin’ Wolf song. 

They took a cigarette break, and Jimmy asked him if he had the rewritten lyrics. “Let’s give this one a try,” he said. Jonesy knew it well; his bass was the star of the intro. Robert and Bonzo had heard it for the first time just now in Jimmy’s living room. Nevertheless it held together well, bolstered by Jonesy and Jimmy. Bonzo held his own with his usual panache, studying Jimmy’s movements, pacing himself with the lead guitar rather than the bass, as was more typical for a drummer.

Robert had not memorized his freshly-written lyrics, so he had to hold the paper up, which cramped his style a bit, but nonetheless he sang

_Been dazed and confused for so long it's not true.  
Wanted a woman, never bargained for you.  
Lots of people talkin', few of them know  
Soul of a woman was created below, yeah._

This led right into a blistering solo by Jimmy, more eerie bass from Jonesy, and on they played, alternating between Robert’s howling out his verses, Jimmy’s wailing guitar, Jonesy and Bonzo driving them onwards, punctuated by periodic shouts from Bonzo which mean they were really flying along. 

_Will your tongue wag so much  
when I send you the bill?  
Ohhhh  
I can’t take it!_

Eventually he ran out of lyrics, and they came to a stop. “That was excellent, solid as a rock. We’re off, boys!” said Jimmy, and he was positively gleeful. They tried it again, Jimmy adding a new hard-driving riff, asking Robert if he could put some lyrics to it, and right then and there he improvised.

_Come on little girl show me the way,  
I wanna make love to you 25, 25, 25…_

Jimmy danced closer to him, so close their heads were almost touching. His eyes were half-lidded, beautiful mouth curled in deep concentration as he played. Maybe he was right and there was something to this mojo theory. Robert sang out

_25 hours a day  
Yes I do, I do, I really do_

He thought that the music might possibly come from the same place as his physical desire for Jimmy, although he wasn’t entirely sure how to test that theory. But it made more sense now than when Jimmy had first proposed it while they lay naked in his bed. 

After another break for water and cigs, Jimmy had them run through the whole set again, by which time they were all hot and dripping with sweat despite the cold, clammy room. At last he was satisfied they had a good start for the upcoming tour, and they retreated back upstairs. 

They went out onto the deck to cool off, and Jimmy suggested they order from Pizza Express. 

“I’ve never tried a pizza,” said Jonesy, which made Robert feel a bit better, because he hadn’t either. He wasn’t even sure if he knew what it was. He didn’t think Bonzo had ever had an opportunity to try one; there were no Italians in Wolverhampton.

“It’s cheese and tomato sauce on a kind of flatbread. It’s very delicious, I promise, you’ll love it.” He went inside to order the delivery and when he came back out, he had fetched them fresh beers and brought out his stash and rolling tray. He passed them to Robert without a word, which struck him as curiously intimate gesture, and he looked around to see if anyone else had noticed, but if they had, it didn’t register. 

He rolled them a fat joint, and they relaxed in the dusk, sipping cold beers and passing the joint around. Jimmy was talkative, listing other songs he wanted them to learn, various covers, and new songs that he and Jonesy wanted to write. He talked with Bonzo about “How Many More Years” and with Jonesy about the proposed organ solo on “Dazed and Confused.” And he complimented Robert on his new lyrics. “No more cat and mouse, eh?” he said, laughing at the silliness of the original lyrics.

Jimmy had great plans: for another Scandinavian tour, some club dates in England, and next year, cutting their debut album. His elation was contagious. Robert looked into Jimmy’s sparkling eyes and felt himself at the edge of a tremendous leap forward. He was a salaried musician now, and the other three were the best with whom he had ever played. 

The doorbell rang, and Jimmy went to fetch the pizza. When he came out onto the deck, he had two steaming cardboard boxes with a delicious smells rising from them. He spread the bill carefully on the table, and they divided it up and dug into their pockets to reimburse Jimmy. Of course with the others there, Jimmy did not offer to treat him as he had so often, and Robert was glad he was keeping the real nature of their relationship on the down low. 

Jimmy served it out on paper plates and he was right; pizza was delicious. It was a bit like a grilled cheese sandwich and a bit like a spaghetti dinner. The cold pilsner was the perfect accompaniment. Robert found himself downing his fourth slice before finally pushing his plate back in satisfaction. Jonesy collected the empty plates and wadded up napkins and stuffed them into one of the empty boxes. There were still a few slices left, but they were all full. “Breakfast,” Jimmy said, taking the empty boxes inside. 

Jonesy declined the offer of another beer, another toke, as he had to drive home. Bonzo and Robert were not so restrained, and by the time Jonesy pushed Bonzo towards the door, promising to come back for another rehearsal on Saturday, they were both a bit tipsy. 

“So long, Planty,” Bonzo said, unsteady voice disappearing down the hallway. 

“So long, Bonz,” he said, and he waved at them as they drove off, then made his way back to the deck to collect the empty bottles. He brought them into the kitchen. Jimmy was at the sink, his back to him, the green shirt clinging to him in damp patches. Robert suddenly and vividly remembered their period of abstinence had lifted and he could now touch him the way he wanted to.

“How’s your mojo, darling?” he asked, circling his arms around Jimmy’s waist. 

“You think it’s all rubbish, don’t you?” Jimmy asked as he dried his hands. Robert hadn’t let him go.

“I don’t, actually. There might be something to it,” Robert said. “I don’t know that music comes from the same place. Maybe a similar place. Like the chakra next door.”

Jimmy turned around to face him. “It’s the same place,” he said, quite seriously, and he put his damp hand on Robert’s chest, right over his heart, which fluttered in response to his close touch. The remnants of their musical connection still thrummed.

Robert clasped his hand over Jimmy’s, held it to his chest. Then he pulled him in for a kiss, but Jimmy turned his head. “So hasty,” he purred in his ear. “You found it hard to wait a few hours for your reward?”

“Hard, yes,” Robert growled, thrusting his hips forward so that Jimmy could feel that he was indeed hard. They kissed, pressed together, cock to cock, and Jimmy’s hands reached around and grabbed his arse, pulling him closer. They kissed for a few minutes, pressed against the edge of the sink, and Robert’s pulse skittered, his blood pounding in his veins. How he wanted the gorgeous dark-haired beauty in his arms! He was half-afraid of losing it right there in the kitchen when Jimmy pushed him away and told him to come sit on the sofa like a civilized creature. 

Meekly, he followed him to the lace-covered sofa. Their half-finished beers were still sitting there on the coffee table, and Jimmy sat down and resumed drinking his, and Robert sat next to him, a bundle of tightly-wound tension, hands clenched to stop himself from tearing into Jimmy in a frenzy of lust. 

“Now, where were we?” Jimmy asked him, without wanting an answer. He set his beer down, slipped a hand around Robert’s neck, pulled him in for a hot kiss. He was just as eager as Robert, in fact, despite his playing it cool in the kitchen. Soon they were exchanging hard, dirty, open-mouthed kisses, and Robert finally had his wish, his sweetheart in his arms, yielding to his caresses. He unbuttoned Jimmy’s shirt, tearing a button in his haste to run his hands up and down Jimmy’s warm torso, slim but beautifully muscled, his lean chest and elegant collarbone, his graceful neck. He pulled the shirt down Jimmy’s shoulders to kiss him there, to kiss and gently bite to let him know what he thought about having to wait all day. He slid his arm around Jimmy’s dark head, pulled him close as they kissed.

He was ravishing him, tearing at his clothing, but Jimmy did not seem to mind. He lolled against his arm, his hot tongue probing Robert’s mouth. Robert’s hand rested on his rippled abdomen, slid lower, opened the big button of his velvet trousers and worked open the fly. Underneath (oh happy day!) he wore nothing at all, and Robert found his cock nicely stiff, and he grasped it, and both of them sighed with pleasure. 

His darling was a luscious sight, cheeks flushed red, dark hair mussed, beautiful lips all puffed from their hard kisses. Oh, he wanted to suck him, to fuck him, to climb on top of his hard dick and ride him to ecstasy! While he was thinking these naughty thoughts, his hand inevitably sped up, making Jimmy moan and thrust his hips eagerly. 

“Oh, Rob,” Jimmy sighed out. “Oh, Rob,” and he caught his breath. “You’ll make me….” His speech was interrupted by his noisy, wanton moans as his cock throbbed out its juices, splashing his belly and soaking Robert’s hand. He smeared it all into the pulsing head, thumbing the delicately sensitive spot underneath, coaxing out a few more spurts as Jimmy shuddered with bliss. He kissed Jimmy’s slackening mouth, grasped his cock tightly until the throbbing stopped and his moans became quieter.

“That escalated quickly,” Robert said with a smile. He rubbed two fingers into the come splashed on Jimmy’s belly, tracing a slow circle, and kissed him fondly.

“Yes, well,” said Jimmy. “Well, then.” He seemed a little flustered and disconcerted, his shirt askew, button torn, hair mussed, stomach drenched. 

Thankfully, there was a tea napkin on the coffee table. Robert used it to mop up Jimmy, then he buttoned his fly and even found the torn button on the floor. He offered to sew it back on. 

Jimmy took the button from him and tossed it across the room. “I don’t care about the button. I care about this.” He boldly rested his hand between Robert’s legs, hot and heavy, and felt how hard he was. Robert surged against him, craving the friction. They kissed, more slowly than Robert would have liked, because Jimmy was already spent, and that just made it more tantalizing. Jimmy kissed him lazily, rubbing his dick through his jeans, making him cant his hips eagerly as the warmth spread from his groin to his quivering limbs. 

“Now we go my pace, eh, babe? And I like it slow,” whispered Jimmy, resting his lips on Robert’s neck as he undid his fly and with a little sigh of pleasure, took hold of Robert’s stiff and throbbing tool. And then he held it, just held it, and when Robert bucked his hips impatiently, he grasped it just a little tighter, holding still, feeling Robert’s cock throb in anticipation. He kissed his neck, his throat, flicked his tongue over the sensitive points, making Robert shiver. Jimmy gave him a sweet, sexy bite to the shoulders, which sent an answering throb straight to his delighted cock. 

Slow, thoughtful, and sultry, Jimmy worked him over until he was trembling. He kissed him leisurely, even though Robert was panting and thrusting his tongue into his mouth. He stroked his cock with measured calm, though Robert was bucking his hips to push himself in and out of his tight grasp. And then, maddeningly, he let go of Robert’s cock and sat straight up on the sofa and slipped of his loafers.

“What are you doing?” Robert asked him.

“You’ll see,” said Jimmy, and then he stretched himself straight out on the sofa with his head on Robert’s thigh, and he took his stiff, aching cock between his rosy lips and began to suck him.

A hot wave of pleasure washed over him as Jimmy tickled him with his tongue, sucking the head, licking the slit, lashing the sensitive underside. “Ohh,” he sighed, “Oh, your mouth, honey, it feels so good.” He ran his fingers through Jimmy’s dark curls, tried to stop himself from pressing his head down upon his cock, settled for holding the back of his head, tangling his fingers through his hair, moaning with bliss as Jimmy teased him with soft lips and fiery tongue. 

“Oh, Jimmy…. oh….honey….suck it!” he cried out. He was almost delirious with pleasure. Not much longer; he just couldn’t take it. 

Then, because he knew Robert was about to come, Jimmy released his cock, let it slide out until just the swollen head rested on his tongue, and he wickedly lashed the sweet spot underneath. He brushed his dark hair away from his face, to give Robert a better view, and then he locked eyes with him as his clever little tongue tickled and teased until Robert was groaning in ecstasy. His soul was melting away, he was losing track of himself, was nothing more than a big, throbbing want, an ache that filled every atom of his body, until all those atoms coalesced into a fiery explosion. “Oh, yes, oh yes, ohhh!” he sobbed out. With a jolt of his heart, his come gushed out of his throbbing dick, spilling all over Jimmy’s tongue and running down his sweet pouty lips. 

He looked down; how could he not? Not content to tongue the cream from his delighted prick, Jimmy had enclosed his whole cock again, and Robert shuddered as the tight wet heat engulfed him, while Jimmy’s wicked little tongue kept lashing and teasing the head while he spurted again and again.

With a shiver and a soft moan, his pleasure was finally complete. He pulled Jimmy up from the sofa, kissed his soft lips before he had a chance to wipe them, tasting his own come and loving it. How completely he had surrendered to those beautiful lips milking every drop out of him! A long, soft kiss followed, conveying an ocean of meaning, and, spent as he was, he didn’t want to stop kissing those pouty rosebud lips.

“Mmm, darling,” Jimmy said. “Your lips are so sweet.” Jimmy reached for his hand, held it as he kissed him. It was unbearably romantic, and finally Jimmy leaned back and nestled his head against Robert’s shoulder, and Robert put an arm around him and drew him close. 

“Do you want tea?” Jimmy asked him. Robert shook his head. “A cigarette? A toke? Leftover pizza?”

“Nothing, baby. Just you.” It was enough for Robert. He was momentarily satisfied, but hadn’t gotten his fill of Jimmy Page, not by far. They sat side-by-side, legs pressed together from hip to knee, and Robert knew that he hadn’t long to wait. 

“We might as well,” said Jimmy, standing up, not letting go of his hand. “Does it count as going to bed early if we fuck for hours before falling asleep?” He moved towards the staircase, and Robert, delighted at hearing such naughty words in that posh accent, followed him eagerly. 

In the bedroom Robert now thought of as their sanctuary, they were more leisurely, lying propped up against the headboard, side by side in bed on the mauve sheets, sharing a cigarette, whetting their appetites slowly. Jimmy told him, in his soft cultured voice, all the dirty things they would soon do to each other. He told him how badly he missed him in the previous week, how he’d made himself come with his hand, thinking of him in bed at night. All the while he puffed the cigarette, his hand stroking Robert’s naked thigh, looking so calm and polished that Robert was shocked at all the filthy words coming from his delicate lips. Shocked and thrilled that the sophisticated exterior was peeled away and underneath, there was the savage Jimmy, aching to fuck and be fucked, unable to stop himself from uttering dirty endearments and coaxing pleas. 

With only a hand on his thigh, and Jimmy’s beautiful voice, Robert was hard again, How could he not be, with the raven-haired, cherry-lipped decadent angel whispering blandishments and filthy promises in his ear? Jimmy finished his cigarette and finally leaned over to give him a slow and smoky kiss. He made it perfectly clear he was going to take his time, as Robert caught his breath and kissed eagerly, Jimmy kissed even more slowly, his little velvety tongue licking at Robert’s lips. When Robert opened his mouth, he bit his lower lip gently, lightly kissing him, driving him mad with want. Robert grasped the back of Jimmy’s neck, pulled him into a close kiss, forced his tongue inside his mouth, kissing him wildly, until he finally opened his mouth and gave him the deep and soulful tongue-kiss he was craving. 

Robert tried to hurry things along by reaching across Jimmy as they kissed, trying to brace his arm, climb on top, but it was Jimmy who straddled him, pressing him into the headboard, grinding their cocks together, kissing him with slow, sweet, exhilarating kisses. He was in charge, and Robert, despite his initial greed, was content to lay back and let himself be kissed and cossetted and teased, as Jimmy kissed not just his lips but his neck and shoulders and collarbone, the hollow of his throat, his chest and biceps, and he licked and sucked his nipples into hard little points that ached sweetly and made his cock throb. And then he kissed him again, the same spots, with a tiny bit more sting, he gently bit his neck and shoulder, making him shiver, and then his sharp little teeth found his nipples, sending that tantatalizing mix of pleasure and pain washing over him, and then he licked and kissed the hurt away. 

It was overwhelming, and when Jimmy grabbed the bottle of sweet oil and squirted it between their cocks, coating them thoroughly, he thought he might come right there. But Jimmy had more in store for him. He lifted his thigh, steering his cock towards his tight little hole, an ambitious move for a novice, given the size of his cock. Robert tensed with anticipation. It didn’t seem possible that his big hard pole would fit up into Jimmy’s sweet little arse, but he sank down on it, letting gravity do the work, biting his lower lip as he felt himself impaled, until at last he was nestled right up against Robert’s bollocks, the whole thing deep inside him. He rested for a moment, his head hanging low, dark hair a curtain over his face. Then he angled his hips and struck a chord deep inside himself, and he moaned out _ah, fuck, Rob_ , and began to ride him, 

Robert sank down a little lower, so that Jimmy’s cock scraped against the hair of his chest, the friction adding to his pleasure. Jimmy’s hips began to piston, his lovely mouth gaped open and he huffed as he rocked himself on Robert’s hard cock. He leaned forward, and Robert could just reach his sweet brown nipples with his tongue. He licked them, making his tongue stiff, lashed them until Jimmy was whimpering and bouncing up and down, his face bright red, his lovely mouth twisted in an expression of pure ecstasy. 

Robert felt himself close to the edge, but he wanted his darling to have a fantastic, soul-shaking spend first. He took deep breaths, trying to relax. To hurry Jimmy along, he lifted his knees, bent low and just managed to take the head of his cock between his lips. His reward was Jimmy’s sweet, luscious groan as he felt himself simultaneously sucked and fucked. Robert reveled in his erotic task, grabbing Jimmy’s arse, squeezing it, pulling Jimmy close, making him fuck his mouth. Robert tongued his dick lovingly, licking the slit, lashing the sensitive underside, as Jimmy’s moans become increasingly higher in pitch. He gave his sweet bottom a friendly slap. 

“Ah!” Jimmy cried out. He thrust his cock deeper into Robert’s mouth, rocking himself up and down, luxuriating in the double pleasure. But Robert’s neck started to cramp, so he released him from his mouth and jerked him with his hand.

“Feels so good,” Jimmy panted, leaning down for a hard and sloppy kiss, thrusting his tongue in Robert’s mouth, riding him hard. Robert struggled to make himself last. Jimmy was so hot and tight, his kisses so passionate, that Robert moaned steadily as he rode him. He grabbed his pert little ass, brought his mouth low, and this time managed to suck his cock a bit deeper, and Jimmy went wild, moaning _oh-oh-oh_ as he bounced on Robert’s dick. 

It was too much for Robert, and he let go of the cock in his mouth and sat up, arching his back. Bracing against the headboard, he pushed himself into Jimmy, thrusting wildly. “Ride me, baby,” he groaned. He was starting to come, and in the midst of his passion he remembered to grab Jimmy’s poor abandoned cock, grasping it tightly in his hand. He stroked it as he groaned with sweet relief and pumped his hot little arse full of his cream, and Jimmy with a hard sob spurted all over him, the creamy jets arcing out, landing on Robert’s chest, as they trembled and moaned together in shuddering ecstasy. 

“Oh, Rob. Oh, honey,” Jimmy sighed out, grinding his hips, coaxing out the last of his spend, and Robert started to quiver, he was so exquisitely hypersensitive. He was still holding Jimmy’s cock. He leaned down to tongue the head, teasing out one last fat drop of come, which he licked up eagerly as Jimmy moaned softly. His hand, his belly, and chest, his thighs and his bollocks, were drenched with their mingled spendings. Jimmy collapsed onto his sticky chest, his hair brushing his shoulders, and he sought his lips for a sweet, spent kiss, with just a little aftershock, a final electric pulse of pleasure that made him gasp just one more time.

“Rob, baby, that was…..” Jimmy clearly did not know what to say. He rested his head on Robert’s shoulder, so that his silky hair tickled his mouth. 

“I know,” Robert said. He, too, was at a loss for words. How to explain the blistering passion, the rapture they felt in each other’s arms? “I’ve never felt like this before. Never done this before.” He had never imagined sucking cock would feel so good, that he would like the taste of come, his own and Jimmy’s, that he would revel in it, or beg to fucked, or that lying with a man – not just any man, but his own darling – would be so exhaustively, exhilaratingly delicious. 

“You’ve bewitched me,” Jimmy murmured into his ear. “When you were gone, all I could think of was you. I barely ate or slept. I wasn’t even dressed when you finally showed up.”

And Robert had thought that he had been bewitched, that Jimmy was the enchanter. Clearly this helpless feeling of lust and love, rapacious and tender, worked both ways. 

“I suppose that is because you love me,” said Robert, taking a bit of a leap. Jimmy was soft against him, all fucked-out and boneless.

“I suppose it is, and don’t you know it,” said Jimmy, kissing him again, and he was right, Robert was knowing it all over the place, and smiling with satisfaction as he held his sweet dark angel in his arms, and together they sank into the blissful, dreamless sleep of true love.


End file.
